MM fm TCOT Maligned Mobster
by Elena George
Summary: Perry is hit. What happens next?


Epilogue

Epilogue

A/N: Just under 30 years later, Denver

Ken, Johnny, and Mason all ducked for cover when the car sped by spewing bullets above their heads. When the car fled the scene, Ken took a quick inventory and found Mason had been hit. The ambulance and police arrived within fifteen minutes. By that time, Mason had come back around enough to give Ken some rapid directions. He was to get Della and meet them at the hospital after she'd been told that Mason was going to be "just fine." Ken rolled his eyes knowing how well that would go over with Ms Street. Johnny was left to tell the police what had happened. Ken made his statement first as the paramedics cut Mason's jacket and shirt off and established an IV and administered other medications before bundling Mason off to St. Luke's.

Della was surprised to find Ken at her door later that evening. She noticed that something was wrong when she brought him inside.

"Coffee, Ken?"

"Uh, no thanks, Della," he said as he stood looking around nervously.

"Then why don't you sit down and tell me what has happened," she calmly directed, all the while her heart was racing out of control.

She steeled herself for the news that something terribly wrong had occurred. Her greatest fear was that Perry was no more. Only half of her mind was listening to Ken as he began.

"It's Perry, Della. He's been shot," Ken tried to sound calm.

Della broke out in a cold sweat, "Where is he? How bad is it?"

Ken rubbed the back of his neck, "He's at St. Luke's. He said to tell you he was fine and not to worry."

Della's mouth pursed as if to hurl something at the young man, but she decided it was not his fault.

"Who? When? Where?" were her next rapid fire questions.

"We had just had dinner with Johnny," he started.

"Were they shooting at him and hit Perry instead?" Della interrupted.

Ken shrugged his shoulder, "Dunno. I gave the police my statement then got over here as soon as I could. He wanted me to bring you to the hospital. I think he'll be okay in a few days."

"You could sound more reassuring, Ken," Della snapped at him as she rose and headed for the door. "Let's go!" she demanded as she pulled her coat on.

Mason was still in surgery when they arrived at the ER. Della and Ken were redirected in short order to the waiting area for the ORs on the second floor. The surgery was simple and straightforward enough. The surgeon cleaned the wound which was a "through and through." She added an IV antibiotic to forestall infection and sutured it closed. The resident applied the dressing and bandages. The nurse and OR tech took Mason back to the Post-op and Recovery Ward. Mason was clad only in a sheet when he coughed and awakened enough to mumble.

"Della…" was the first soft word he spoke.

The nurse came over and saw that he was beginning to come out from under the anesthesia, "Welcome back, Mr. Mason. Enjoy your trip?" he said jauntily.

His eyes were still closed, but Mason managed a grunt then asked, "Della."

"Who's Della?" the nurse asked.

"My wife," the patient responded though his speech remained as slurred as a drunk. With more force he demanded, "Della."

"Easy does it, sir. You're in post-op, and she can't come back here," the nurse replied.

Mason opened his eyes to a spinning world, "Della. Want Della."

He started to move around, making the nursing staff take more notice. His surgeon came in to check on his progress. Dr. Martha Bradley took one of the nurses aside and held a hushed conference before exiting.

"Mrs. Mason," Dr. Bradley called out as she looked through the waiting area.

Della stood and nodded. Ken gave her a puzzled look.

"I'm Mrs. Mason. May I see my husband now?" Della inquired, eyes focused on the doctor.

"Yes, I think that would be good for him. He is a little agitated at the moment, keeps looking for you. I don't want him thrashing the sutures out. This way, please. You can stay for a moment or two, then I want him to get some rest," the doctor responded as Ken looked on.

Della followed her on around to Perry's bedside. She gave the area where he lay a quick inspection. She noted the monitors, the IVs, and the other equipment chirping and humming in the background. She tried to crowd back the tears. She wanted to be strong for him.

"Perry?" she whispered since it seemed the proper volume for the place.

His head wobbled in her direction and his free hand shot out from under the sheet, "Della…" he slurred.

She took his hand and stroked his beard with her other, "I'm here," was all she could get out that even came slightly close to sounding right.

"I'm going to be fine," he was hoarse from the anesthesia tube. "It hurts a little right now, but I'll be okay."

Della nodded, unable to speak in an unbroken voice.

"Della, I want you to tell Ken that we will be in court tomorrow," Mason was less and less foggy by the minute, fighting his way out of the anesthesia. "I need you to bring me some clothes in the morning, say about eight o'clock. I'll probably need you to help me dress, too. Whoever did this is going to think twice if I come back tomorrow."

"Are you certain, Perry? You wouldn't like a little rest?" Della squeezed out.

"Positive," his voice was unwavering. "When you run the gauntlet of reporters, tell them Perry Mason will be back in court tomorrow. Let the shooter see that in the headlines for breakfast. I hope it ruins his whole day."

"Oh Perry," her tears now began to flow.

His unsteady hand made to wipe them away, "Della, really, I'm fine. Now, you're going to need a good night's sleep, and so is Ken. It's late, have him drive you home, then pick me up tomorrow."

She kissed him good night and straightened herself for the coming barrage of questioners.

Ken met her at the door, "Well, how is he?"

She smiled courageously, "He's Perry! He wants us to pick him up tomorrow morning for court."

Ken shook his head, "I wonder how he's going to pull that one off?"

"I don't want to ask," Della assured him. "Ready for the reporters?"

"Sure. You?"

She stood stock straight and nodded and took his arm, "Let's get to the car as quickly as possible. 'No comment. Mr. Mason will see you all in court tomorrow.'"

Once in the silence of the car, Ken turned out of the parking lot and headed to Della's home. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"So, when did you and Perry get married?" he threw out _**the**_ question.

A faint smile played across her lips, "Oh, Ken, we've been married for almost 30 years."

"But you don't live together," he shook his head incredulously.

"No, we don't," Della stated flatly.

Ken scratched his head, "I always thought the two of you were in love, but…"

"How come we don't live together? What about those eight years apart when he was on the bench?" Della offered.

"Well…yeah," he finally spit out.

Della turned to him with motherly affection, "Perry is not easy to live with. We tried it for a while, but we drove each other crazy. We found ourselves fighting over this and that. It was really small things, but they just got under the skin."

"Go on," Ken prompted.

"Our first fight was," she paused for a moment trying to recall, "was over toothpaste."

"Toothpaste? I though couples fought over the toilet seats and money," he joked.

Della smiled warmly, "No, Perry was always very conscientious about that. And money was never an issue. I still write the checks, or his bills would be perpetually late. But what he couldn't do was keep his hands off my toothpaste. I squeeze from the bottom and, well, he squeezes wherever his hand lands. His tube, my tube, it really did not matter to him. Yes, we tried two tubes to cut down the fighting. That and he would leave the top off and I'd have to hunt it down when I got home. The end would be all dried out by that time."

"I guess there was more than just toothpaste," Ken ventured.

"Oh yes. There was the laundry. For a long time he lived out of the laundry basket. The maid would do the laundry and leave the clean clothes in a laundry basket at the foot of the bed. He was supposed to put it all away, but he swore he never had time. Oh, his suits and shirts went to the cleaners well enough, but everything else was washed at home. I finally broke him of fishing clothes out of the basket by dumping its contents on the bed. Then he'd just deposit the clothes willy-nilly into the closest drawer and be done with the task. He told me he bought only black socks so he did not have to spend time sorting them. I got tired of digging through his clothes to find mine. He'd rummage through everything and my clothes would end up all over our bedroom.

"The kitchen became a battleground, too. Just the minute I thought I had things the way I wanted them, he would come in and disarrange things. I could never find anything I needed or wanted. What's more, neither could he when I'd ask him for this or that. He had the habit of opening more than one package of the same something or drinking right out of the carton.

"We simply got on each other's last nerve. After six months of sharing his apartment, I moved back to my own. You see, Ken, we were both pretty set in our ways when we got married. It had been a very long time since either of us had to make allowances for another person.

"The marriage has worked so much better that way. Not announcing our marriage had one more benefit – it let me off the hook for 'events' I simply did not want to attend," she concluded with a warm smile. "Plus at the time we married, very few married women worked. Perry could not live without an organized secretary, and I could not live with the thought of him having another secretary."

Ken pulled into her driveway and opened the car door for her. Della motioned him in.

"But what about when he took the appellate judgeship?" Ken ventured further.

"Yes, that was a whopper of a mistake. One month turned into six months, then into eight years," Della shook her head in disbelief. "Time simply got away from us since we were not living together under the same roof. I missed him terribly and we got together a couple of times a month. Then I got busy and couldn't get away. It was my fault. Perry also gained all that weight while he was up there. I think he took out his frustrations and loneliness by eating everything he could get his hands on. When we'd get together on those weekends we were both free, I'd find that he'd gained another 10 pounds, much to my distress. I guess it's why I nag him about his health, just a little, even now. Anyhow, then we had a big blowout fight over the living arrangements and our jobs. We sulked in our separate corners for months after that."

"Then you were accused of the Gordon murder?" Ken queried.

"Yes, and then I was accused of the Gordon murder," she nodded retrospectively. "I was afraid to ask Perry since we were still angry with each other. But in the end, it was the best thing for us. If nothing else, the fear and work brought us back together. We have always worked together better than we lived together. It didn't hurt that he was jealous of Gordon. He thought I had left him for a new boss," she chuckled deep in her throat. "He had no idea of how lonely I was without him. Perry has always been my one and only great love. So, it was just too painful to live together and too painful to live without him. That's why we kept up the fiction that we were just associates and friends."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense. Perry once told me to never go to bed angry…" Ken began.

Della nodded, "He was giving you the benefit of our painful mistakes. So, when you find the right woman, go ahead and get married. So don't wait until middle age as we did. You're young enough to remember how to share a bathroom, kitchen, and the rest with somebody else."

He made his way to the door; Ken bent over and kissed Della on the cheek, "What time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow morning?"

"Perry said he want to be out of the hospital in time for court. I think you should plan on getting me around six-thirty. That will give me time to help him into his clothes," she walked him to the door. "You know, Ken, you and Paul are like the sons Perry and I never could have."

Ken looked puzzled, "Never have?"

"An earthquake stole that from me at the same time it gave Perry to me," she smiled. "It was a more than fair exchange."

The next morning Della and Ken got to the hospital as Mason was putting on his final argument for leaving. Now, he was wearing an hospital gown. The IVs had been discontinued when they arrived. The pole was still attached to the bed, but the empty sack hung listlessly from it.

Ken pulled the curtain around the bed and lowered rail.

Della kissed him, "He knows, Darling."

"Bound to happen sooner or later," Mason nodded as he rolled his legs over the side of the bed.

"Oh, that is going to itch," Ken commented when Della was ready to help Perry into a fresh shirt.

"Tell me about it. It already does," Mason rejoined.

Della gave him a quizzical look, "What's going to itch?"

"His chest," Ken replied casually.

Della looked startled as she stroked the patch in question, "They shaved…"

"Half the hair off my chest," Perry finished.

Della gave him an annoyed look and dug through her pocketbook, "Here, this will help."

Before helping him into the clean shirt, she rubbed some lotion into the shaved area. Mason gave a little grunt of approval and stole a kiss.

"Oh, if you guys are going to start that, I'm leaving," Ken joked.

"Good-bye, Ken," Mason replied as he stood up and reached for Della.

"No time, Perry, not if we are going to get to court on time," Della reminded him.

"Very well, Della, I will defer to you for the moment. Tonight, your place or mine?" he said with a wicked little grin on his face.

The End


End file.
